


namedays

by minimalcoloration



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Transition to Warrior of Darkness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 04:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16737265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minimalcoloration/pseuds/minimalcoloration
Summary: sunwalker stands higher.or, thirteen namedays where things happened (inspired by 5.0's teaser)





	namedays

**Author's Note:**

> un-beta'd :)

_“You will one day grow strong,”  Akahito presses his hands tighter around hers, assisting her grip as she looks up at him- wide eyes and tail swaying in the moonlight,  “strong enough that these shades no longer burden you.” He releases, and she tightens her fingers around the hilt of her sword. “Now strike.”_

_She misses._

* * *

“You will one day grow strong,” Sunwalker stands at the doorway separating the harsh cold of Coerthas and the warmth of the hot chocolate on the wooden table, gaze rested on the boy in front of her- who jumps when he realizes he is not alone, “strong enough, that these shadows will no longer burden you.” Alphinaud blinks before he returns to looking at his hands, broken-hearted.

There is no response.

Sunwalker approaches and pulls up a chair next to him, wrapping her arms around him (all she gets is silence.)

* * *

 

_“You are already brave,” Akahito reminds her on her nameday, “I know the gaze that the others cast upon you, and I see the strength you have to ignore them.” They hold hands while he browses items at the market place, she struggles to peek at the merchant’s wares. Around them people shuffle, the chatter of Kugane is nothing new but the people seem to change with the tide, gossip makes her ears twitch and hands squeeze (but she still can’t see what he’s buying.)_

_When they arrive back home, he places a set of ear clasps in her hands and she beams._

* * *

 

Sunwalker is brave, the cold bites at the tips of her ears and the stone at her feet burns (but it’s probably just stress,) but as she gazes across the chasm to red eyes and spread wings- brother at his feet, she wonders if all that bravery was just a mask for her fear. Nidhogg roars, she flattens her ears in protest, decides that rationality can wait for survival, and sprints- leaps across the platform and draws her blade. The stone below her feet shakes, but she is not afraid- she is brave.

People are relying on her, she must be.

She swings, it hits.

* * *

 

_Eorzea was a marvel, fascinating and utterly unique compared to Hingashi- for every Miqo’te she spies she grips his hand tighter and tighter (she’s known that her father isn’t really her father- but she’s never seen so many Miqo’te,) and he continues pulling her forward. The sword at her side clatters against the metal decorations of her boots as she struggles to match Akahito’s pace- he was a giant to her, and his steps were broad and hers were small. People gaze in their direction, but she can tell their eyes are not on her- rather they’re on her father and his scales (she has never seen people look at him that way, like he was an oddity.)_

_“Where are we going?” She asks when she manages to move a tiny bit ahead of him, out of breath._

_“To Mor Dhona, Kinu.”_

_Kinu doesn’t know what ‘More Donna’ is but it sounds important._

* * *

Sometimes Sunwalker thinks back- back to the purple haze of Mor Dhona, the last day she sees her father wander out into the fog while she watches, hands gripping the familiar hand of a Hyur whose name she’s long since forgotten, and the feeling of loneliness that threatens to consume her when she’s pulled inside. Again she stands at the gateway to the path that leads to the castrum, staring out into the hazy fog as if she’ll find something all these years later (she won’t and her hand tightens around the old, rusted clasps that are all that remains.) The adventurers standing guard just beyond the final step of the gate ignore her presence, perhaps they’ve gotten tired of asking her why she’s there- or maybe they understand now that this is more than just people watching, and the adventurers passing through float like ghosts through the gate in somber silence.

It’s her seventeenth nameday and she misses him.

* * *

_Kinu approaches the counter in Limsa Lominsa with unease. For so long she’s spent her time studying arcanamia, it’s the only thing she’s become good at (Limsa has no dojo for the blade and she lacks funds for even food,) waiting for the moment in which the orphanage no longer holds her down (they don’t know that she’s been sneaking out and that’s fine.) The man behind the counter looks up, grin on his face and she hopes it’s not because she looks young (this is something she **needs**.)_

_“Greetin’s to ye, lass.” Arms open, his smile doesn’t fade, but her fear does._

* * *

Sunwalker stands at what feels like the top of the world. The Ala Mhigan landscape merges and melts into the clouds travelling across its peaks, and even though she’s held at the end of a katana there’s something beautiful about the flowers around them. Zenos stands across from her, on a realm farther from existence; face split into a grin that sends her blood boiling (she’s going to claw his face off.) Yet, she does nothing- not as he slices open the chains holding Shinryu hostage- or as he merges with the wretched beast in order to cause chaos. The blue light that blinds her, the power that overwhelms her- this is nothing.

“We tower above the gods! You by your gift, I by my might!” Zenos cries unto the heavens, arms open- and she watches wordlessly as he merges into the primal behind him.

Zenos stands on top of the world, wings spread and fangs bared- aether flaring into a shape that brings the burned memory of Bahamut back from the grave.

Sunwalker stands higher.

* * *

 

_In her dreams she sees him, cobalt skin and white scaled- stern façade betrayed by heartwarming actions, but she never reaches out. They stand separated by a chasm where green mist floats unto the night sky between them. Akahito is eight summers younger- as young as she remembers the Hingan marketplaces with him in them, while she remains eighteen summers old._

_“You said I would grow strong,” L’mihn calls, “Yet I am naught but a failure.” There are tears somewhere, deep inside her wounds that threaten to spill but never come because she has already shed them all._

_“Strength is not just your sword.” Akahito replies and she wants to yell- kick and scream that the sword is all she’s known- but she quiets and watches him, unsheathing her blade. “Your shades yet burden you.”_

_L’mihn enters her stance, gaze firm and hands shaky, and the chasm between them seems to close. Akahito remains still, face split in her vision by the tip of her blade as it quivers._

_“You will one day learn what strength is,” Akahito steps forward, gaze trained and movements firm, “so that your blade stills, and your heart heals.” They are back in Kugane, in front of the izakaya where the lanterns are unlit and the air is cold from the sea breeze._

_She strikes._

* * *

Sunwalker has had many titles, but only two names.

No one remembers the first, the child from the orphanage with nothing but a book at her side, the silken outfits that her father used to wear or the silken fabric that she keeps in her bag ( to remind herself of what used to be home.) Kinu has sharp eyes and even sharper teeth, yet the words that come out of her mouth are Hingan- the life she has lived is not one of hunting, and the clothes that she wears are dirty. Sunwalker remembers the days of arcanamia, the scars on her hands and the flowers that have bloomed in their place, she remembers the ghost of Mor Dhona that haunts her dreams and the crystals that burst with energy. Kinu stands at the bottom of the world, hands fidgeting and fear spiking, shrouded by the mask of ash and fire.

L’mihn stands higher, on the rising sky to the east that faces towards what still continues to be her home, eyes sharp but mind sharper, the barrel of her blade aimed at the parting mountains of The Burn, ice dancing around her as she walks- alone. There are many things she cannot forget, even the flowers bloomed on her fingers do not disappear into the snow. Sometimes, in her dreams she sees a ghost that reminds her of humility, blades dancing in the unlit streets of Kugane. Hunting is difficult, but easier now, and even though her name has changed her mind has not- she will never be on par with either clan. The silk that sits in her arcanamia book is old, well loved and well worn. This Sunwalker is remembered; she leaves her scars in the dirt and in the stone, digs her blade down to the core and scratches the surface.

* * *

 

On her twentieth nameday, she stands against the world. Light consumes and scars her memory, eats the people she loves and devours the blind faith she has given it. Summers have passed and gone with naught but suffering. The worst has come, and when the light descends upon her like a heavenly angel forged by Amdapori mages, she doesn’t flinch. When she meets the ground and feels the stinging pain of rocks digging into her skin, she bites her tongue until she bleeds and tries to stand. Memory flashes like images on a console: Zenos, Bahamut, Nidhogg, Shinryu, the cries of the dead scream out her name and call for repentance that she is not willing to give. The crushing weight that bears her down, the corpses of her friends on the stone path leading up to her home, this evil that she has wrought trying to make something worthwhile out of her pitiful existence, she feels her nails dig into the mossy stones and crack. The blood is fresh and she knows not what caused it anymore, her vision blacks out as her sins come to pierce her through like a skewer.

She screams.

* * *

 

_Akahito lies dead at the feet of silver armor and a lance drenched in blood. Around him lie his comrades- adventurers skewered and wounded, barely breathing but dead to the world. There are other people here, in this foggy plateau in Mor Dhona, hiding behind rocks (she can see them because she too is hiding,) the fear etched into their faces as they try to stifle their breaths makes her squeeze her nails into the dirt. The silver armor moves like its selfsame bullet, and suddenly the rock is unsafe- lance barely grazing the neck of the armored adventurer, everything stills in what seems like an eternity before their cry rings out._

_The adventurer hits the dirt below them, blood oozing from the hole ripped through their chest. Their comrade faces the armor in resilient bravery- and in the eternal silence that follows the passing of a soul it turns around. The ground below her trembles (but it’s really just her hands that are shaking,) and she feels the instinct to run. Stuck to the ground she shakes, praying that it does not find her too- that it ignores how she tries to hide the sniffles that follow her tears, or the way the stones tumble together as she flexes her fingers in the dirt- trying to grasp onto something that will root her to this earth, to this pain. Yet as it moves to back away it faces her, eyes red- glowing._

_Akahito lies dying at her feet, gasping for air and reaching for his fallen blade that’s just enough out of reach, there’s betrayal in his eyes aimed right at her- a burning fire that scathes her soul._

* * *

 

Broken, the angel hits the floor with a thud. Heaving, L’mihn leans against the pillar beside her, hand clutching the wound across her stomach, blood tainting her gloves and jacket a sickly red. Her vision swirls, and she knows it’s the onset of aether sickness that comes to claim her. Around her she hears fire, but she cannot tell if it was her doing. The hand holding her blade is shaking, grip weakening and unable to stop her as she curls up and falls to her knees. This is it, she will die here- she only has minimal experience in healing magicks and her potions were retired long ago, this is what she deserves in the end (it’s hard to redeem when you caused the end of the world.)

Someone calls her name and she raises her head.

Around her lie the bodies of alliance soldiers, she shifts on the magitek armor that holds her steady, and stares straight ahead.

The angel, no- Zenos’ body lays dead, armor broken, skin _burning_.


End file.
